


cerimonie

by heartsfilthylesson



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsfilthylesson/pseuds/heartsfilthylesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal presses a ring into her palm, the corner of his full lips upturned into a tiny smile.  “The last piece.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	cerimonie

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by all the new bedannibal stuff.

Hannibal presses a ring into her palm, the corner of his full lips upturned into a tiny smile.  “The last piece.”  

It’s an oval-cut aquamarine on a white gold band, a setting of small diamonds about its smooth edges. Lovely, but so simple, so unlike him. Bedelia eyes it carefully, warily almost --she expected something grander, something more pompous, something more Hannibal.

“It reminded me of you,” he tells her all too casually. It does not fool her. She can see past his feigned nonchalance, past person-suit and skin and bone, through to the man who craves her approval with unbidden desperation.

Bedelia slips the ring on and turns her hand. The soft lighting of their sitting room catches on the pale blue of the stone, makes it a shade darker, the colour of the French Riviera.  

“I see,” she says with disinterest that sounds genuine to her own ears and takes a sip of malbec

 

-

 

They don’t write their fake names on the bottom of a document but, the next night, they present their union to a god neither believes in. A momentary lapse of reason, she decides, fueled by fortified wine and the opera.

The church is small but beautiful, with a candelabrum hanging off the lacunar ceiling and heavily-adorned walls. Her heels click along the marble alley, thunderous in the empty room.

_“Sì?”_ A man taller than Hannibal and nearly twice her age meets them by the front pews. “Signori?”

“Buonasera,” Hannibal replies, hand outstretched and a polite smile on his face.

He shakes his hand and nods at Bedelia. “Americana?”

“Si,” she answers, mildly annoyed at being so easily spotted. “Yes.”

“Eccellente!” He motions for them to take a seat and stuffs his wrinkled hands into the pockets of his trousers. “What bring you here?”

“We just got married.” Hannibal reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the thin skin of her wrist.

The priest grins, his wrinkled face creasing like silk. “Honeymoon?”

Bedelia shakes her head. “We live here.”

“Ah, bene!” He is so affable it’s nearly unpleasant.. “You marry in the church?”

“We can’t,” Hannibal tells him, the lie rolling easily off his tongue. “Divorced.”

“Chiaro, chiaro.” The old man looks pensive for a moment. There are dozens of candles lit behind the altar, casting strange shadows when he opens his arms in invitation. “This is very,” he pauses, searching for the right word. “Unorthodox? Yes. But I marry you.”  Another pause. “Non ufficiale, of course.”

This is not what she expected when she walked into the place, cheeks flushed and shoulders uncovered. She’s not sure if she wants to do this but Hannibal replies before she can.

“Of course.”

They stand hand in hand before the pulpit as the priest flips through the pages on the bible. He hums when he finds what she assumes must be the perfect passage. His voice is soft and he alternates between smooth Italian and heavily-accented English.

“God as our witness,” he finishes with flourish, “I declare you _marito e moglie_. Baciare, please. ”

Hannibal presses his mouth against hers. After, the three of them share a glass of the blood of Christ.

 

-

 

“A wedding.” Hannibal removes his pressed suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves as he walks into the kitchen. “A pleasant surprise.”

Bedelia hums and watches him from her spot across the room. “Certainly.”

He frowns and moves to stand beside her “Did you not think so?”

“It was unusual and grandiose,” she tells him with a shrug. “It was very you.”

Hannibal has no answer, simply offers her a cup of tea she politely declines.

“Buonanotte."

“Buonanotte,” he repeats as she rises.

They face each other for a long moment, and it reminds her of earlier, of the church. Another ceremony, she thinks, the kitchen island a pulpit without a priest. 

“Hannibal?"  She touches the aquamarine on her ring finger and takes a step closer. "Kiss your bride."

**Author's Note:**

> the church isn't intended to be the one in the promo pictures ~


End file.
